Just before the battle, Mother,I am thinking most of you.
While upon the field we're watching,
With the enemy in view.
Comrades brave are round me lying,
Fill'd with tho'ts of home and God;
For well they know, that on the morrow,
Some will sleep beneath the sod.
Farewell, Mother, you may never
Press me to your breast again;
But o, you'll not forget me, Mother,
If I'm number'd with the slain.
Oh, I long to see you, Mother,
And the loving ones at home;
But, I'll never leave our banner,
Till in honor I can come.
Tell the traitors all around you,
That there cruel words, we know,
In ev'ry battle kill our soldiers
By the help they give the foe.
Farewell, Mother, you may never
Press me to your breast again;
But O, you not forget me, Mother,
If I'm number'd with the slain.
Hark! I hear the bugles sounding,
Tis the signal for the fight,
Now, may God protect us, Mother,
As he ever does the right.
*Hear "The Battle-cry of freedom,"
How it swells upon the air;
Oh, yes we'll rally round the standard,
Or we'll perish nobly there.
Farewell, Mother, you may never
Press me to your breast again;
But you will not forget me, Mother,
If I'm, number'd with the slain.
Hark! I hear the bugles sounding,
Tis the signal for the fight,
Now, may God protect us, Mother,
As he ever does the right.
*Hear "The Battle-Cry of freedom,"
How it swells upon the air;
Oh, yes we'll rally round the standard,
Or we'll perish noble there.